


Drawn to Mate

by sunshine (sunshinepiveh)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Choking, Dom/sub, M/M, Mating Bond, Spit Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 11:59:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14769188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinepiveh/pseuds/sunshine
Summary: To join new human members into the pack, one a year the pack emissary uses the magic of the nemeton to choose the next viable candidate. In this case, it is Stiles' turn. However, it's up to him to figure out which pack member he's drawn to, which member should be bonded to him as a mate. Although there's a one-year loophole where he could eventually back out of the arrangement, it still feels like a pretty big deal, and Stiles isn't at all sure that he's drawn *enough* to Derek for this to work. On the day of their upcoming bonding, at the last moment, he finally finds himself in close proximity to Peter. Just in the nick of time.Note: Archive warning "underage" has been applied to this story, but I do not have a specific age in mind. Could be read anywhere from like 16 to 18 in my head, so may or may not be under age.





	Drawn to Mate

**Author's Note:**

> It's not a very well constructed idea, but it occurred to me and so here it is. Short and sweet.

"Go over it with me again?" Stiles asked.

Cora rolled her eyes. "You'll stand up in the front of the living room, our emissary will say some things, you and Derek will be bonded, yadda yadda...." she waved her hand vaguely and scanned the crowded living room and kitchen. She made a beeline for the back porch and Stiles trailed frantically after her. Everyone else continued to mingle.

"See, this is why I keep asking!" he said, flailing slightly.

Soon, he and Derek Hale were going to be bound together as mates, as Stiles was initiated into the pack. And the whole thing sounded fine, good even. He'd agreed to it willingly and so far the system seemed to work. But that didn't change the fact that Derek was practically a stranger to him. He knew Cora from school, but everyone else in her family was just everyone else in her family. He knew the key players but he didn't really _know_ them.

Of course, the process of joining the Hale Pack had started two years ago. First it had been Scott and his mother. It was a short time after that when Stiles and his dad had joined the clan, honorarily, though they didn't actually share any pack bonds. Unlike the wolves, they didn't feel a thing, supernaturally speaking anyway. But they weren't the only human members of the pack by a long shot, and there were apparently ways to fold new humans into the pack over time.

Every year there was a mating among suitable members. There was magic involved. Deaton, their emissary, did some mumbo-jumbo over a magical stump they called the Nemeton, and then somehow a new member was called to be next. Stiles hadn't paid attention to that part, but it had turned out he was next in line. After that, he had really tried to follow the process but it was hard when everyone else took it for granted, and when he had a severe case of ADD.

Being chosen meant that someone in the pack would make Stiles a suitable mate. Mate, it turned out was a dicey term but could mean life partners, spouses, or fuck buddies. Or just weirdly close friends? Stiles was unclear on that front as well.

Last year's ceremony had been for Cora and a new packmate named Isaac, though Stiles didn't know the kid very well in spite of him being "with" Cora for a year now. When Stiles hung with Cora, Isaac was rarely around, and when Isaac was with Cora Stiles was pretty sure they were fucking.

Once Stiles had been chosen there had been the matter of finding his match. He'd asked why the magic couldn't just single his mate out for him but apparently that just wasn't how it worked, and the wolves had looked at him funny when he'd asked about it, like he really just didn't get it. Which, he didn't.

No, Stiles was supposed to feel his mate. It was up to him. And after months of feeling nothing and hanging around on a property crowded with distant packmates, he'd gravitated toward Cora's older brother, Derek.

Now Cora led the way into the enclosed back porch and grabbed her hidden cigarette to light it again and take two drags. Then she waved the smoke out of the window, put the cig out, hid it, and swished her mouth with water from the utility sink. Stiles didn't understand why she even bothered with the habit if she couldn't even indulge in it properly.

Cora was about to say something more, but Laura had caught sight of him. She gave her sister a flat look and grabbed Stiles by his shirt. "I've been looking everywhere for you. Come on."

"What? Is it happening?"

"You're supposed to be completing acts of service," Laura said with an eyeroll and a judgey tone. "We've been over this."

"Right," Stiles agreed, and had a bundle of Derek's laundry shoved into his arms. Did that mean like now? He thought he remembered the washing machine was upstairs by the big bathroom. "So like, I'm not supposed to do this by hand or something am I? And is this a permanent thing?" he wanted to know. Was this some weird misogynistic throwback? And why did he have to do the acts of service when Derek didn't? He was sure it had been explained to him. Something about his newness. He couldn't remember.

"You don't have to wash it by hand," Derek said softly, stepping out of the shadows. Laura melted into the background and Stiles smiled a bit. He set the laundry pile on a vacant chair next to him. "It's just symbolic," Derek told him with a small smile.

"Hey," Stiles said with a smile of his own. "So I have to do it before the ceremony then?"

"I think as long as you do it sometime today...." Derek shrugged helplessly.

"When is this thing anyway?" he asked, looking around at the press of people. No one seemed in a rush, but a lot of people had turned up for it.

"When it's time," Derek answered vaguely, looking away. Stiles repressed a sigh at the continued vaguery. At least with Derek, he could forgive it. The big guy was painfully insecure and shy. He was hard to get to know, but Stiles found him likeable in general. 

Stiles wiped the sweat from his brow. It was hot as balls out and the wolves didn't use a/c. They preferred nature or something. He squinted at Derek's black hoody. "Aren't you hot as hell in that?"

"Oh uhm...." Derek stuttered. "I'm just not... you know, comfortable."

Understatement, Stiles thought. Derek was rarely comfortable.

"You know, since Kate," he admitted with a wince.

Stiles felt that name like a gut punch. He didn't know much about Derek's past, but he'd learned enough, first through Cora and later through Derek himself, to know that Derek dated someone he shouldn't have, she'd been abusive and terrible, and she was to blame for a lot of Derek's current insecurity. Stiles wasn't sure exactly what Derek was now trying to say Kate had done to him -- made him body conscious, or maybe just made him want to hide, but it didn't matter either way. "Oh, sorry," Stiles stuttered out, feeling embarrassed. He had no clue how to handle this sort of thing.

"Don't worry about it," Derek said.

"Derek," Deaton called from across the living room.

"Duty calls," Derek said with a last private little smile, and Stiles ached to follow him.

He wanted to call out, "Don't leave me here!" Maybe that was proof enough that he was supposed to be with Derek. Maybe, hopefully, that was the magical draw. And though Derek was hard to get to know, they'd work through the awkward and it would be good. But Stiles felt queasy with doubt.

He saw Deaton going over something with Derek at one end of the first floor, and very distantly he could see Cora trying to snag her cigarette again in the other direction. He didn't know any of the other faces down here, except maybe Laura, but he related to her even less than he did Derek. She was just too much older. And while Derek was older than him, it wasn't by much, and he was mentally about the same age.

Stiles sighed and grabbed the pile of laundry. He should be glad that the symbolic service was so benign, and he wondered vaguely what the intended used to have to do back in historical times. Probably wait hand and foot on them or something. Which, kind of kinky, but also not really appealing to do for Derek, whom he hardly knew.

He wondered how the sex would work. Derek wasn't hard on the eyes and Stiles was into guys, so no problem there. He was down for it. But he hadn't really felt any urgency for it yet. And wasn't that supposed to be a major component of this bond they were setting up?

He thought again of the one year loophole. Cora had told him about it first, and Deaton had given him sparse information on it. The mating ceremony was really to bring Stiles into the fold, but most mated pairs stayed together for years afterward. After all, they wouldn't be drawn together if they were incompatible. But if they _were_ sort of incompatible, they could break it off after a year, no hard feelings. It was done, just not often. Some mates stayed together their whole lives. No pressure.

Stiles found himself wandering the second floor, no closer to remembering where the laundry room was in this mansion, and he'd kind of blanked out and lost time. Also not unusual for him. But now he just wanted to forget the laundry and go find Derek. Which was weird that he didn't want Cora, but she wasn't really being sympathetic about this, and Derek at least seemed sensitive to the seriousness of what they were going to do. He had seemed at times as nervous as Stiles was.

"Stiles? Honey, what's wrong?" Talia stepped out of a bathroom and into the hall, steam trailing her as she was in a robe with her wet hair piled up on her head with a clip.

Stiles blinked back to reality. "I don't know. Sorry," he shook his head to try to clear it. "I just feel kind of...." he trailed off. "Do you know where Derek is?" he asked.

Some sort of recognition lit her eyes, though Stiles didn't know what. But now that the words were out of his mouth, he really did want to know where Derek was. It was like an anxious buzz under his skin. He wanted to be near him, and he knew that Talia could direct him. All of the pack had a sense of where each other were, and the closer the family the closer the bond. Talia could point out her son like a compass.

"I'll take you to him," she said and led the way. Stiles dropped the laundry on the floor and followed her, shocked as she led the way downstairs in only her robe. He hadn't meant to disturb the Hale matriarch in the middle of her getting ready. He'd thought she'd just point him in the right direction. Now that she led, however, it was all Stiles could do to keep up. Through the crowds, out onto the grounds, and across the property a little to an old garage, used now more as a workshop and storage area than a place for cars.

Talia stopped at the open door and Stiles spotted Derek immediately, standing a ways in beside his uncle, Peter. Just talking. Just fine. He felt immediate relief upon seeing him and Talia smiled knowingly. Huh. Maybe this was the draw he was supposed to feel? He went to Derek instinctively and they folded each other in a hug.

"Derek," he sighed, feeling the anxiety ease at the familiar scent and feel of the hug.

"Stiles," Derek murmured back.

Peter's eyes sparkled with mirth from over Derek's shoulder, and Stiles knew he was about to make fun of him. Peter pressed in close and started to say something -- but Stiles blanked. The words rushed past him, unheard over the roar in his ears. His eyes zeroed in on Peter. His mirth. The cut of his jaw. His scent. God, his scent.

Stiles grabbed a hand behind Derek to fist in Peter's shirt and pulled him close, a Derek sandwich only with Peter off more to the side. "Peter," Stiles said, and inhaled. Spice. Musk. He felt heat grow under his skin and a weight settle in his groin. He pressed his face against Peters neck, breathed, licked.

Peter jerked back and Derek pulled away, but the latter he hardly noticed. "Did you just --"  Peter started to ask incredulously.

Stiles felt like he had tunnel vision, or even more tunnel scent. Was that even a thing? Peter's _scent_. Dear god. He relinquished Derek without a care and wrapped himself in Peter, inhaling. The man felt good. So good. Warm. Solid. Perfect.  
  
"No wonder he and Derek were so uncertain about the pairing," Peter was saying over his head to Talia. "They were only ever meant to be packmates."

That part penetrated Stiles' mind, and it did make sense. Derek felt safe and homey, but Peter felt like a supernova. He was achingly hard and couldn't think of anything else but also didn't care. It was so weird. "Peter," he said again, the name an oath. Or maybe it was a plea. 

The others said something, and then they were gone. Peter's skin tasted of salt and sweat. He felt the wolf growl in his chest more than he heard it and Stiles felt weak at the knees. He might have fallen, or maybe Peter had helped, but he blinked and he was on his back, Peter hovering over him.

He choked back a sob, wanting more. Peter was too far away. He reached for him and pulled him closer, or tried to anyway but it was clear who was in charge here. Stiles had had a slight submission kink under the right circumstances but now he wanted nothing more than Peter's attention and approval.

He could see the feral glint in the wolf's eyes as Peter fitted his palm over Stiles' neck. Stiles swallowed and panted open mouthed, from arousal, not fear. He couldn't find it in himself to feel fear toward Peter. It didn't matter that he hardly knew the man, that there was the age gap. He bared his throat and saw a glint in Peter's eyes as the wolf pushed closer to the surface. His wolf was testing him, and he thought he was passing.

Stiles saw what Peter was going to do a moment before he did it. He was going to spit... into Stiles' open, panting mouth. A corner of his brain knew that he should find it disgusting, and probably infuriating. But he was swamped by smell and feeling and he  _ wanted _ . His eyes closed and he flinched slightly as the small bit of spittle hit his tongue, then he closed his mouth and tasted it, licked it, swallowed. He had taken some of Peter into himself. He blinked his eyes open and saw a ravenous look of hunger in Peter's eyes, and his hand was still flush on Stiles' throat.

"Peter," he begged. He would cry if he couldn't have more, though a distant part of him was trying to rally enough strength to see to the ceremony, whatever it was. Whenever. He still had to do that, right? It was hard to think.

There were voices at the door. Peter looked up first, and Stiles followed hazily. They were talking. He recognized Deaton, and someone else was with him. Peter said something about the ceremony without moving an inch and Deaton tossed him a bottle. Lube.

"Are you serious?" Peter asked. Some sort of affirmation. The people were gone. Peter's gaze was on him again, but not enough skin.

"Shh," Peter soothed. "I'm going to take care of you, baby," he said, and helped Stiles pull his shirt off. He'd forgotten they were both wearing clothes. He needed less clothes. More Peter.

The filthy garage floor would have grossed him out at one point, but now meant nothing to him. He waited, naked, as Peter stood to rid himself of his clothing just as efficiently. Stiles felt that small separation like a physical pain, something carving out his heart and his guts. Peter's pants dropped and Stiles' mouth watered at the sight of the generously proportioned cock. He knelt up and dove down to Peter's startled moan, sucking as much of Peter into his mouth as he could.

He moaned as the taste of precum and sweat and skin bloomed on his taste buds. Stiles dove forward, trying to get more, trying to be good enough. He wanted to be good enough, and swallowed around the cock, gagging himself, choking slightly.

"Easy, hey," Peter continued to murmur to him as he tangled his fist in Stiles' hair and pulled him off. Stiles let out a pained whine when he was forced to separate. _Why?_ He needed.

Peter pushed him back onto the floor, though, draping his body over Stiles' with delicious skin on skin. It was bliss. Stiles couldn't help but lick, suck, nip, and kiss any bit of Peter within range, and the man stayed blessedly close to him though it certainly made it awkward to open the bottle of lube, coat his fingers in it, and begin working Stiles open.

He hadn't actually been fucked before, though not for lack of trying. And he'd certainly played with himself back there on numerous occasions, so the stretching process wasn't that foreign. No, in fact it was blissful. It was  _ Peter _ . 

But in a detached way, Stiles almost couldn't believe that it was happening when Peter's cock finally slid home. This was actually his first time. Then all room for thought fled, and he was lost in feeling.

Peter's body, Peter's cock, Peter's skin, Peter's sweat. His breath, his mouth, his muscles. Stiles moaned, torn between trying to somehow take more of Peter, and the urge to go pliant for him.

He couldn't have said afterward whether it had been over quickly or lasted ages, but he remembered that it felt incredible. An ache in his ass but one that he liked, and the delicious friction of movement as Peter fucked into him. His own cock trapped between their bodies was the perfect counterpoint. Stiles' face was wet with tears and his fingers clutched at Peter's back. The sounds he heard himself making were obscene, and the sounds Peter made were animalistic. He felt himself arch and come almost painfully and a moment later felt Peter freeze, buried inside of him, as his cock twitched his own release.

Stiles whimpered slightly as Peter pulled out. He felt sore and empty. Sticky. Fragile.

Peter huffed as if in annoyance but his face held a fond sort of smile. He shuffled over to sit on the floor beside a fucked out Stiles and Stiles clung to his legs while Peter pet him.

"This floor is filthy,"  Peter commented after a while.

"You're the one who fucked me on it," Stiles said tiredly, still feeling kind of swamped by the reality of Peter. He wanted to absorb himself into Peter's pores. It didn't make sense but he wanted it.

"So I did," Peter agreed easily, looking down at him. Stiles blinked up, held his gaze openly. "My god," Peter said wonderingly, "you're my perfect little submissive, aren't you?" he asked.

Stiles felt himself flush from head to toe, and his stomach twisted pleasantly. Something deeply primal agreed.  _ Yes! _

"No wonder Derek didn't know what to do with you," he said offhandedly.

Stiles felt a pang of something like guilt, and certainly embarrassment. He buried his face against Peter's thigh. Muscular, hairy thigh. Sweat slick. He was getting distracted. "Do you think he'll be mad?" he asked. He couldn't believe what he'd just done with this man, and some of it right in front of Derek. Had... had he licked Peter while holding Derek? Oh god.

"I doubt it." Peter huffed a laugh. "The poor boy had just been complaining to me that he thought something was off about the match."

Stiles thought about that. He had shared his own nerves with Derek, and Derek had reciprocated those fears. It had made him feel a little less alone at the time, made him think that was a sign they actually were meant to be matched.

"You said something earlier," Stiles said, fighting to remember. "That Derek was only meant to be pack. But isn't the whole rest of the pack, pack?

"Derek is probably my closest relative. He's also male, which tells me you might have a preference," Peter winked saucily but Stiles just smiled and snuggled closer. He did have a preference. He wasn't embarrassed about that much.

"So I sensed he was family?"

"Basically."

"But not Cora." Stiles frowned. He would have thought he'd sense her first since she was his friend.

"I rarely spend any time with Cora. Different interests. And different gender, as I've said."

Stiles hummed. "Isn't Talia your closest relative?"

Peter snorted. "No. You don't have siblings, do you?"

"No," Stiles said. Neither did Scott. But Cora didn't seem that close to Derek or Laura, he supposed. They mostly bickered.

He still wanted to know why he hadn't sensed Peter before. The second he'd been in close proximity to him, it had been like an avalanche. Even now, he couldn't stop touching him, breathing him in. The thought of separating at all was painful and panic-inducing. The thought of rejection was too painful to contemplate.

"I guess I never got close enough to you before to know," Stiles said quietly, feeling a pang of guilt. Like he'd failed Peter somehow, like he'd rejected him out of hand. It had been up to him, after all, to find Peter. Not the other way around. Deaton had explained that much at least.

"There is the age difference to consider," Peter told him. "You were closer in age to Derek. You went to him first and felt something." He shrugged as if it were of no consequence now. "And there are my own rather particular tastes to consider. I hadn't felt it necessary to get close and try you out like some of the others because I very much doubted you would qualify."

Insecurity gripped at Stiles' heart. "What qualification is that?" he dared to ask.

"I do not share power well," Peter said with a bit of a growl to his voice. He combed his fingers through Stiles' hair and Stiles melted to the touch. "But you, my dear, are a revelation. Were you like this with my nephew?" he asked curiously.

Stiles shook his head and snorted. "I didn't want to do his laundry for the service task," he admitted. He wondered whether he'd have to do Peter's laundry now. He felt a weird urge well up in him to do Peter's laundry, and to do it well enough to garner his approval.

Peter snorted. "Laundry," he said disdainfully, shaking his head. "That's the task they gave you?"

"I think it was Laura's idea," Stiles said. "I don't think Derek cared either way. What task would you give me?" he asked.

"Perhaps I'd start with having you lick my feet," he mused, "just because I could."

Stiles felt his mouth water and his eyes shifted to look down the length of Peter's legs to his bare feet. He didn't have any sort of foot fetish, and he didn't really think that Peter did either. But there was inherent appeal in debasing himself like that.

Peter's hand came over Stiles' eyes. "Relax," Peter instructed him. "It would be terrible for your health to lick up whatever grease is on them now from this garage. Maybe I'll let you do it later, when we're clean."

Stiles felt a warm flush across his skin, and didn't question it. Whether it was because he didn't have to do it now, or whether he could do it later, it didn't matter. Really, very little felt like it mattered. He was content. He didn't open his eyes again right away when Peter lifted his hand away.

"Is it always like this?" Stiles asked. He didn't need to explain.

"It's different for everybody. Things should settle soon, though. Especially after Deaton bonds us."

"Will I still want...." Stiles trailed off.  _ To lick your feet? To melt into your skin? _

"You should feel more clear headed," Peter told him as he idly stroked his hair. "But yes, I think you'll feel the same."

"Good," Stiles breathed out the word. A declaration. An oath. Everything, for the first time since this whole thing had started, felt good.


End file.
